


Three Simple Words

by ladyofdecember



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Buddies, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Romance, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdecember/pseuds/ladyofdecember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The account of the ups and downs of two strangers who become friends and eventually lovers. Whoever said love was easy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Elementary.
> 
> I have revised this chapter slightly from when it was first posted, minor editing fixes here and there but none of the story was changed.

Joan liked to use her previous work with her previous clients as a reference for how to deal with Sherlock. But she quickly found out that there was no reference for how to deal with that man. He was an enigma through and through. How could she compare him to other men? She couldn’t. She’d tried. She’d stayed up late at night thinking about it as she lay in bed over and over and over and still she found no answers. 

She didn't know how much longer she could continue to work for the man. No... wait, where did that come from? She didn't work for him, certainly not. She was employed by his father in order to keep an eye on him. Joan swallowed nervously as she found her thoughts were beginning to concern her once more. She'd thought she had a hold on them lately but apparently not.

Standing from her perch on the edge of her bed she left her room and journeyed down the hall to their bathroom. His bathroom, she corrected herself.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror for a long second before reaching out for a hair tie and gingerly wrapping her hair up into a messy bun. She began splashing cold water from the faucet onto her face in an effort to snap out of whatever reverie her mind kept taking her into. When she was finished she moved back towards her temporary bedroom to get ready for the day.

It was extremely inappropriate to fall for your client. You are supposed to be making sure they are making healthy choices, staying clean and learning independence so that when you leave, and you will leave eventually, they are able to continue their lives just as before. How on earth is any of that possible if you start some sort of relationship with the person? 

Joan cursed her own existence as she made up her bed. She sighed, already seeming to feel frustrated with a day that hadn't even begun yet.

Not to mention if she were to pursue some sort of romance crap with Sherlock that her family would look down on her even more so than they already seemed wont to do. They didn't respect her and they didn't respect her job. And if she were to begin dating one of her clients? Ha!

Although, Sherlock was quickly approaching the end of their time together... as a client. Soon he would be moving on to the next stage in his “treatment”. No... she shook her head stubbornly. What was she thinking? She was going to be moving on to another client soon. Someone else needed her help and she had to move on. She wouldn't dwell on this any longer. She'd make arrangements for a new client and get ready to leave very soon no matter her feelings on the matter.

She was a professional, damn it. She wasn't in high school and she would not allow her silly little feelings to get in the way of doing her job the right way.

When she was done she made her way downstairs following her nose to the smell of... muffins?

Joan narrowed her eyes at the sight before her. Sherlock stood next to the stove muffin pan in hand wearing what appeared to be a light pink apron tied around his waist over his dark denim jeans. She was awake, right? This wasn't another one of those weird dreams she'd been having lately, right? He seemed too busy to notice her presence behind him as he gently set the pan on top of the stove and went about cleaning up the disorderly kitchen. It was only when he went to remove the bubbly apron that his eyes shot up and met her deep chestnut brown ones.

“Good morning!” he announced cheerfully as he folded up his apron and placed it inside the pantry.

“Um... good... good morning.” she nodded and cleared her throat. 

“Muffin?” he held out one of the blueberry baked goods to her and she couldn't help but smile.

“Yes, please. Thank you. I didn't know you were... a baker.”

She busied herself with unwrapping the scrumptious smelling baked good in an effort to hide her smile.

“Well... not usually, no. I just thought I'd try my hand at it.”

Joan watched him lift the other 11 blueberry muffins out of the muffin tin and onto a designated plate on the counter. She turned and eyed the pink smock that now lay in their pantry with an amused expression.

Sherlock leaned against the kitchen counter and folded his arms in that protective sort of way he does. “So... how is it?”

The surgeon quickly blanked her face into an impassive sort of look to hide the fact that she'd been eying the smock and nodded back towards the man. “It's delicious! Good job. Um... I do have one question, though.”

“Oh?” his eyes flicked up to hers curiously and his smile seemed to dilute quite a bit.

“What's with the apron? I mean, pink? I'd think if you were going to own an apron at all it'd be something more... black.” she supplied lamely seemingly to falter at her own words. She'd noticed he'd had that effect on her.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her and pushed off the counter with ease wandering out towards the living room. “It's not mine... obviously.”

She finished off the muffin and went about tossing it's wrapper in the nearby garbage can. She noted with amusement at how clean and pristine the kitchen now looked and wondered if he'd cleaned up simply because she had requested.

Joan turned and followed the man with her eyes as he meandered into the living room. He turned on his multiple T.V. sets and stood stock still in front of them seeming to decide now was a good time to begin his “work” for that day.

A time had come along when Sherlock had decided to trust Watson. Perhaps it was when he had admitted to her that Irene was in fact dead. Watson had been pressing the matter of who this Irene was and what she had meant to him on and on. So that night he finally decided to throw her a bone, a little tidbit of information and let her know the woman was no longer in this world. It was nothing too substantial as far as information goes but it still seemed to him at least that it was a big step in their relationship, admitting something of that nature to her.

He wasn't really sure just when he had decided he trusted her but he absolutely had at some point. At first, Sherlock hadn't wanted her there at all, hadn't wanted her aimlessly following him around like some sort of puppy and certainly did not want her living with him. He'd wanted nothing to do with the bloody infernal woman whatsoever. But she had grown on him and found a place in his heart somehow. He felt himself melting at her glances and feeling lightheaded at her simple touches. Joan Watson was perplexing to him. She was like... well, for lack of a better metaphor... she was like cocaine and he felt a compulsive need to be with her. 

Joan approached him from behind.

“Thank you for cleaning up.” she grinned at the back of his head and noticed that when he turned slightly to glance back at her his face looked carefully and conscientiously blank.

“I didn't.”

She raised an arched eyebrow at him before glancing again towards the various screens. “It certainly looks like you did. That's the cleanest I've seen it in a while.”

“Well... I might have tidied up a bit. Here and there.” Sherlock responded staring carefully ahead appearing to focus on the T.V.s in front of them.

There was a brief silence between the two of them, the televisions having been muted so only the pictures captivated Sherlock's attention at the moment. He shifted from one foot to the other quietly, unwilling to let his emotions show. He remained silent and stony as best as he could muster given the circumstances.

“So... is it an ex-girlfriend's?”

Sherlock blinked and turned to face the woman standing behind him completely baffled at the question. “I'm sorry?”

Joan suddenly looked uncomfortable at her blurted question blinking rapidly and shifting her gaze away from the man. “Oh... uh, the... the uh, the apron.”

The detective grinned at his flatmate all feelings of longing and embarrassment gone and shrugged at her. “Something like that. Why are you so interested?”

The air had changed between them. The game was seemingly back on.

The raven haired woman looked anywhere in the suddenly stuffy room, anywhere but his face. “I'm not... I'm... I was just curious.”

Sherlock moved closer which only took a step or two seeing at how close in proximity they had already been standing. Joan seemed to snap to attention then, her chestnut brown eyes zeroing in on his face. She hoped he wasn't going to do that trick of his and “deduce” her or whatever the term was. She hoped he wouldn't of course because if he did it wouldn't take very long for him to notice the slight flush in her cheeks, her dilated pupils, the rapid breathing.

“Joan Watson... you are... “ he murmured, his eyes glancing at her delicate face.

She blinked at him slowly and tried her best to meet his gaze levelly.

“I quite enjoy your company, my dear Watson.” he finished, his smile turning into more of a relaxed and genuine one.

And, then it happened. All of her strong, imagined walls came down. She felt it happen all at once just then. Everything she had tried to block out, all of the thoughts, the feelings, the sensations she had felt since she had first stepped into the apartment. Everything she wanted so desperately to ignore about the man. Every thought that had kept her up at night. It hit her all like a tidal wave. She swallowed nervously while keeping her eyes fixed on his hazel ones. 

A slow smile crept onto her face and the flush deepened in her cheeks. Heart pounding in her ears, Joan Watson smiled at the detective who somehow had managed to find a place in her heart. No matter how hard she tried to keep him out he had made his way in, made himself at home there. But maybe, that wasn't such a terrible thing after all.

They stood gazing at each other and it probably looked like they were just smiling like idiots to anyone who may happen upon them. Sherlock took a deep breath and turned away from her breaking their shared gaze finally. She tried not to feel disappointed.

He stepped quickly back into the kitchen and grabbed two muffins from the tiny plate. Joan spun around as he approached her once more and handed her one of the sweet treats before biting into his own with a look of sheer mirth.

“Thank you.” she smiled back at him gratefully and decided that maybe she wouldn't try to bite back those smiles as often anymore. What could it hurt really?

“You're quite welcome.” he returned her smile full force.

And there they stood in a quiet contentedness eating blueberry muffins and feeling really quite chipper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of the fic, a bit longer than the last chapter and hopefully builds on more of the overall theme of the story. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Elementary.

The rest of the day had flown by with a flurry of various events one after another after another. It was nearing 8 o'clock that night before Sherlock and Joan found their way back to the apartment. To say the day had been exhausting was a huge understatement.

Soon after the two had enjoyed their breakfast of freshly baked muffins Sherlock received a call from the station requesting his assistance in a missing person's case. An inconsolable mother had filed the report for her seventeen-year-old daughter who had disappeared with seemingly no note left behind, no ransom requested, nothing. Sherlock had of course figured it out right away and they had located the crying woman's daughter by late that afternoon. 

She had run away tired of always getting slack from her parents for her 23-year-old college boyfriend. They planned on getting married and settling down somewhere anew convinced that this would magically fix all of their problems. It was an open and shut case as far as Sherlock was concerned. 

Joan had found herself in the midst of a strange, new relationship development. Her mother had called while they were at the station and had left a rather long and detailed voice mail. By the time she'd noticed the missed call it was two hours later. Quietly, she retreated to one of the interrogation rooms to listen to the message. Her mother apparently had been calling to grill her about Sherlock. She seemed rather impressed with the man after they had all had dinner together a week prior and hadn't been able to stop thinking of him. He had really struck a chord with the older woman.

Joan was feeling really rather odd about this situation. Her mother wasn't the type to call her up unless it had been more than a few months without their speaking. Then right on cue without fail she would phone her daughter and request her presence for dinner. It was strange but she chalked her mother's actions up to simple curiosity.

She wanted Joan to tell her everything about the nature of their relationship as she had had a suspicion that there was more between them than simply companion and client. She explained in the message that if Joan felt she had been judging her career choice too harshly that she only wanted what was best for her. Joan couldn't help but roll her eyes as the message ended and she hastily hit the number 7 on her phone to permanently delete it.

Her mother was something else, really. She only wanted what was best for her but really she had no idea what that truly was. It wasn't her fault. She had a very detailed idea of what she thought was best for Joan simply due to her being from another generation. She supposed she couldn't get too angry with the woman, after all she loved her and owed her so much for all she had done for her throughout her life.

Biting her lip in deliberation she decided calling her mother back could wait until later. After all, they had a case to work on. No... no, Sherlock had a case to work on, not her. However, she still needed to be present with him.

Joan never did get around to returning her mother's call and now it seemed much too late. Tired from the day's events Joan found herself slowly climbing the staircase that would lead up to her bedroom. A perplexed Sherlock paused in the middle of their living room to eye the woman curiously. “Turning in so early?”

The surgeon stopped and glanced down at him. “No... well, maybe. I'm just... worn out.”

The detective smiled brightly up at her. “Chinese for dinner?”

“That sounds good.” Joan nodded a sudden smile blooming across her face, her eyes once again sparking to life. “I'm gonna go change.”

Jogging up the stairs now with a renewed sort of vigor she journeyed into her bedroom to change into something a little more comfortable. She opted for a pair of black yoga pants and an old gray t-shirt that was fraying at the ends of the sleeves.

As she returned downstairs she found that Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he'd gone back out for the food rather than ordering in? No matter. She made herself comfortable on the couch sitting with her legs curled up beneath her and a pillow under her arm on the arm rest. She turned on the T.V. channel surfing searching for a baseball game of some sort to watch.

Time ticked by and minutes turned into hours. Joan awoke with a start having dozed off on the rather soft, warm and inviting couch. The surgeon glanced at the television which was glowing intently in the dim lit room. Checking her wrist watch she noted the time and with some apprehension leapt up to retrieve her cell phone from the bedroom.

Dialing Sherlock's number she chewed at her bottom lip in concern. After 3 rings the man answered sounding really rather chipper.

“Hello, my dear Watson!”

“Where the hell are you?” she glanced down at her watch again, “It's 10:30!”

Her voice most likely sounded critical but she was really just worried moreso than truly angry at the man.

Sherlock chuckled easily as he made his way daintily down the street. “Why, I was out getting the food, of course.”

“You left like two hours ago. The Chinese place is right around the corner.” Joan argued tension racing across her pretty features. Did he really think she was that thick?

“No need to worry about me, I'll be home shortly with food, I assure you.”

“But... “ 

She glanced down at the phone's screen noticing that the man had hung up on her quite abruptly. Obviously, he hadn't wanted her to know just where he had been or what he had been doing. She felt aggravation claw at her throat. Feeling a rapid spurt of irritation building within her she flung the phone down onto her bedspread and groaned out loud in frustration. That man, that damned man. He was so infuriating!

About fifteen minutes later the detective strolled through the front door of the apartment bags of food deftly carried in each of his hands. He had a sort of grin about his face Joan noticed as he made his way over towards where she sat in front of the T.V.

She stared at him crossly but said nothing as he unpacked their dinner laying it out on the table nearby.

“Watson... “ he murmured once he was finished suddenly looking quite serious as he stared down at her curled up figure on the couch. The grin was missing from his face as his features played a more intense look about them.

“Yes?” she responded hotly crossing her arms across her chest.

He shook his head then retreating back into his own thoughts. He grabbed his food and moved past her to sit down on the other end of the couch. “Nothing... never mind.”

Joan just eyed the man in dubiety as she moved towards the table to grab some food as well. 

“You were gone a while.” she prompted quietly but the detective had busied himself with his food remaining stony and silent.

She sat back down on the sofa food in hand as she watched him devour his meal. When it became apparent that he was not going to respond to her she too dug into the food. After many minutes of the two eating and staring indolently at the television screen Sherlock spoke up breaking the hushed silence.

“You know... I really would miss you were you to leave. I hope that you've reconsidered the notion.”

Joan blinked down into her carton of chicken and mushrooms. Feeling a sudden onslaught of emotions envelop her she tried not to let it show on her face. She shrugged picking at the meal with her plastic fork.

“I've been thinking about the matter, yes.”

Sherlock stopped eating and rested the container in his lap as he turned to look at the woman. She was quite doggedly avoiding his gaze keeping her eyes fixed intently on her food. This woman... this infernal woman who had the power to quite literally bring him to his knees. She was vexing this woman and quite unlike anyone he had ever met before. She was certainly more than he had expected.

He knew his father had been planning on hiring someone to play “babysitter” for him and to watch and report back his every move. He had planned on how he'd handle the situation and how exactly he would break the person emotionally in order to keep them out of his way. He'd hoped on distancing them from himself right away in an effort to keep the interruptions in his work quite brief and seldom. But upon meeting Joan Watson for the first time he found himself very surprised and very unprepared for just what would come along with this woman's new presence in his life. 

Joan continued playing with her food and pointedly not looking up at the detective. Sherlock shifted in his seat seeming to turn towards her moving imperceptibly closer on the sofa where they sat.

She did look up then and met his gunmetal gray eyes, startled by the intensity of their color and the previously unseen emotional depth that lay inside them. He was watching her his food forgotten as it sat on the ground in front of him.

“Watson... you must stay.”

He sounded strange although she was unable to pinpoint just what about was hidden in his tone of voice. 

The woman was stunned at his words and moved to set her tray down on the floor as well. She took a deep breath as she shifted in her seat towards him.

“Why is that?”

She was feeling certain now that there could never be anything between them. It was a cold hard fact but one that she felt was washing over them rapidly sobering them with a dose of reality. This man in front of her, this man, he was used to being alone. He was the type that preferred it actually. She let her eyes dance over his face scrutinizing his every feature. How could she have ever thought of him in any other way? He wasn't the type to allow people to get close to him. He wasn't that sort of man and it just wasn't in his nature. She would never have a shot at him and she didn't think she really wanted to deal with that thought just yet.

Sherlock felt a sort of pain shoot through him at her indifferent tone of voice. His eyes flickered away from her facing towards the quiet drone of the T.V. and then back to her delicate and soft eyes once more.

“I've grown very used to having you around. I feel that you have become a... “ he stumbled over his words wanting to use the term friend but fearing that that was going much to far. His heart swelled at the closeness of her proximity and his mouth grew dry. Why was everything so hard suddenly?

Joan remained still watching him with carefully placed detachment playing on her face.

“A resource to me.” Sherlock finished nodding quietly.

The surgeon's dark eyes narrowed at him then and he wondered if perhaps the word friend would have been a better choice indeed. Joan stood up and walked towards the staircase with diligent steps.

She stopped and turned back towards him with a calculated and cold look.

“We don't have anything more to accomplish together. You're doing tremendously better now and you're even working on cases on your own. You must feel safer now and more in control. There's really no need for me to stick around any more.”

Sherlock looked away steeling himself against the despondency that threatened to swallow him up. He nodded quietly to himself staring off towards a corner of the living room that appeared to need a good dusting as it had many cobwebs in it's corner.

He heard her retreat up the staircase and didn't dare allow his eyes to travel back towards the woman again. After a moment he reached down to grasp the forgotten dinner but no longer felt any sort of desire to eat.

Standing to his feet he put away the leftovers in the fridge and tried not to dwell on the open and gaping wound that seemed to have appeared in the middle of his chest. It gnawed at him and he wished that he could think of something to replace it with, something to extinguish the pain. His thoughts flitted to his bitter accomplice and past foe, the drug that had gotten him through such tough times before. But no... that was no longer a sufficient answer to his problems or concerns and certainly one that would cause many more issues for him.

No... he had to sort this mess out as best as he could without the use or aid of stimulants. Turning off the television he let his vision glaze over with what was certainly a hazy and mixed feeling of withdrawal and longing.

…

Joan shut the door to her bedroom behind her and reclined against it letting her gaze travel over her temporary living quarters. What was she to do? That man was so frustrating. It's wasn't that she distrusted the man or thought that he may be going off and abusing drugs or anything. She just... she wanted him to trust her and to be able to confide in her. She had been wrong to think there would ever be anything more between them than the simple profession relationship and partnership that they had acquired. The man seemed quite competent as of late and it was this thought that pressed her to move on with her job and take her leave. Now was the time. It was better this way.

She licked her lips and pushed off the wooden door moving to collapse onto her bed. She lay there staring at the ceiling above wishing answers would just rain down upon her. Her mind strayed towards her mother and the fact that she had called earlier. Her thoughts recalled her opinion of Sherlock and how she had wanted answers from her daughter about the true nature of their relationship.

She snorted in derision. As if that man could ever be in a normal give and take sort of bond with someone. Though he had opened up to her on more than one occasion already and that was something.

Tears began to water and well up in her eyes and for the first time in at least a year's time she found herself begin to cry. A sort of heartbreak filled her very being and she reached up a slightly shaky hand to cover her face. Quiet sobs emitted from her down turned mouth as her shoulders began to shake rapidly.

Rolling onto her side she stared back at the closed door to her room. She couldn't help but feel a sense of grief and despair hit her as her tears slowly came to a lull.

Joan shut her weary eyes feeling the exhaustion of the day hit her full force. The clock on her nightstand rapidly approached midnight as everything grew more and more quiet and still in the sullen residence.


	3. Chapter 3

Joan awoke to the sound of... silence. She blinked a couple of times and wiped at her eyes. Sitting up in her bed she glanced at her alarm clock. It was nearing 9:30 AM and for the first time in forever she had not been awakened by Sherlock. Feeling puzzled she slowly slipped out from the warm covers and walked out of her room, bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. She made her way down the stairs to find an empty living room and kitchen.

She listened for any sort of sounds but found none. Sherlock had most likely gone out. She tried to ignore the pain in her heart at the thought of him leaving without her. No matter, she'd have some coffee, some breakfast, maybe even go for a run. She'd meant to set her alarm for six this morning in order to go for a jog but had forgotten. She tried not to think about the gaping hole that seemed to exist now in her chest. Her thoughts slipped back to the previous night's events. She swallowed nervously, worrying that she had gone too far with her emotional outburst.

Biting her lip, she began to make a pot of coffee. She had been wrong to say the things she had. They were friends and Sherlock did need her to stay, perhaps not for his rehabilitation but simply because of their budding relationship, no matter how confusing it was.

She felt guilty and tried her best to push the thoughts away and focus on making something for breakfast. She really did care for the man even if it was hard. She had her reasons for keeping him at a distance as she was sure he had his. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to move on to another job, somewhere else.

Joan was sure that she had hurt him last night and decided that she would have to make it up to him somehow.

…

Sherlock walked quietly out of the station, having met with Captain Gregson for a debriefing. His mind, however, had been on Watson and not on the case nor Gregson's words. He had been trying to figure out a way to convince her to stay. He didn't know what she wanted from him. 

Was it more privacy? Did she want to pursue other interests besides working with him? She had stated that he didn't need her but that thought couldn't be further from the truth. Maybe she really was tired of him and wanted to move on to something else. But he needed her. Why couldn't she see that?! He wasn't entirely sure why he needed her but he did. There was no arguing that fact.

Making his way across the city, it began to rain down heavily, causing him to grimace and gripe quietly to himself. He should have brought an umbrella. Increasing his pace down the sidewalk, he came to the conclusion that he simply must try harder at reaching her.

…

Finishing off several cups of coffee and a full breakfast, Joan was sitting in the living room not quite sure what to do with herself. She wanted to phone Sherlock and ask where he was. She wanted to meet up with him and see if she could be of any assistance to him. But at the same time she felt like she never wanted to see or speak to him again. It was confusing.

She rose from her seat and made her way back into the kitchen to clean up the dishes left in the sink. Halfway through washing them, the detective walked in through the front door. She paused, hands sunk deep in warm, soapy water. Glancing over her shoulder at the man, she gave him a small smile, hoping that it may warm the iciness existing between them. 

Sherlock was soaking wet from the rain. He removed his coat, moving to hang it on the coat rack.

“Watson... I need to talk to you.”

He looked very serious, calculating, as his eyes looked her up and down. She moved to dry her hands on a dish towel before leaning against the counter in interest. She crossed her arms across her chest worriedly. “Okay... “

The dark haired man averted his gaze for a moment, opting to stare down at her black heeled boots.

“I just want you to know that you are very important to me. I don't think you realize how much. I think that you see yourself in the most convenient definition, in that, you don't feel like you have value or self-worth.”

“I don't-”

“Please.” he interrupted her, holding a hand out towards her. “Let me finish.”

Her dark eyes darted across his face before she nodded solemnly at him.

“You are my friend. A good friend. I don't have to remind you that I do not have friends. I'm sure you've written it down in my case file. You are, of course, the exception to that. You are my only friend. You have value and worth. You are more talented than you know. And, I do not wish to see you go.”

Sherlock paused, turning away from her then and taking a few steps over towards his desk. With his back to her, he muttered, “If you wish to continue living here, you may. Or, you may find another place to live. But, please,” he spun around and tried to meet her astonished expression, “do not leave me.”

Joan let her mind take all of this in. She bit her lip as she thought about her options. Should she stay? She could. She could rent the room upstairs from him and continue accompanying him on cases. She wanted to. She did. It was just... there was that crippling self-doubt. There was that worry, that niggling thought in the back of her mind telling her that it may not work out, that things may turn south and to get out now while things were still good. 

Taking a deep breath, she glanced up at his hazel eyes. They were eyes filled with so much warmth and just a bit of fear. She frowned slightly at what she found there.

Not being able to find the right words, she simply nodded at him and said, “I'll stay.”

The smile that broke out across his face was one of pure relief and happiness. She couldn't help but meet it with one of her own. Pushing off of the counter, she walked towards him, moving to occupy the space right in front of him.

He watched her, his eyes raking across her delicate features as she slowly moved past him and over towards the staircase. “I'm going for a jog. Care to accompany me?” She asked as she paused at the foot of the stairs. 

He spun around, giving her a puzzled look. “What, now?”

“Yes. What's wrong with going for a jog now?” she asked smirking at him. He'd gotten out of promises to run with her before but she wasn't letting him this time.

He opened his mouth to object but she fixed him with one of her looks and he let his mouth snap closed. She smirked.

“Great! We leave in ten!” She called over her shoulder as she scampered up the stairs to her bedroom.

Sherlock grinned to himself in contentment. That woman.


End file.
